


Concern or Criticism

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Injury Recovery, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Protective Avengers, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Stephen Strange, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Team as Family, Tony Stark Whump, Whump, stephen strange & tony stark friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A request from my tumblr: "how about tony being bitchy and irritated because he’s starting to come down with a fever (that he hasn’t noticed) and has a really bad headache, and everyone thinks he’s just being over dramatic until he passes out. And it turns out that the root cause is an injury that probably should’ve healed a while ago and everyone just. Feels really bad for getting angry at him."





	Concern or Criticism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyasuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyasuu/gifts).



> see if you can tell just how much i love clint barton lmao

Tony stumbled up from a several-day waking workshop binge and glared when he found that there were people in his kitchen. Lots of people. LOUD people, some of them still in their pyjamas, chatting and eating breakfast.

“I hope you all found the chocolates on your pillows this morning,” he greeted blandly, “and please, inform me if your towels weren’t folded into swans. I demand only the best service at Stark Hotel.”

Natasha blinked a few times, somewhat startled. “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” she replied. 

“Is there a reason we’re so bitchy today?” Strange asked teasingly. 

“Oh,” Clint interrupted, “lay off him. He’s been in the lab forever; he’s probably just hangry.” He offered the other half of his grilled cheese sandwich. “Eat, you’ll feel better.”  

Tony paled and pushed the sandwich gently away. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he said.

Strange frowned, eyeing Tony up and down, taking in his pale, slightly sweaty appearance. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “You usually come up from the lab ravenous.”

Tony shook off his concern. “Just fine,” he reassured gruffly, “just not too keen on eating Clint’s cooking.”  Though he wasn’t too confident that what he was saying was entirely true, if based solely upon the aches in his bones and the fact that he was shivering, he didn’t want to talk about it, so he bit down on the complaints. The faster he could get out of the kitchen, the faster he could go to bed.

“Hey!’ Clint objected. “I’m a great cook.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “You are,” she admitted, “but your tastes are… awful. Just terrible.”

Clint pouted. “They are not,” he maintained. “They’re adventurous.”

“Then what’s on that?” Tony asked, gesturing vaguely to the sandwich.

“It’s a classic!” Clint said. “Grilled cheese PBJ!” 

Strange grimaced and nodded once to Tony. “Concern retracted,” he said. “Do you want something edible?” 

“I can cook waffles,” Natasha offered, “with your favorite maple bacon.” Tony raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. “You made me those electroshock batons,” she explained, “and I haven’t properly thanked you.” 

Tony shook his head, instead reaching up to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet--and suddenly hissing in pain, his hand  grabbing at his side. 

“Tony?” Clint prompted, moving to stand. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine; I’m fine,” Tony dodged irritably, brushing off Clint’s concern and swatting Strange’s steadying hands away. “Just that  cut. Still kinda smarts.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s still bothering you?” she asked. “That was over two weeks ago; it’s got to be nearly healed by now.” 

Tony’s head was pounding from the exhaustion and the wound, and he read her tone as much more accusatory than it probably was. 

“Nothing I can do about it,” he bit, “it’ll heal when it heals.”

“Tony,” Nat started, sounding disappointed, “that’s not--”

After finally managing to pour himself a cup of coffee, he set it down on the table with enough force to make a startling clank and to have a splash of hot coffee slosh over the side and onto his hand. The other hand, which had previously been at his side, came up to wipe sweat from his forehead, pulling at the wound in his side painfully again. 

“Just drop it, okay?” he snapped. “I’m just--ugh. I’m tired, and my head hurts, and I just want to go to sleep.”

“That’s no reason to be rude to Tasha,” Clint said. 

Tony swayed a bit. “I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “sorry. Just tired.”

Strange frowned. “You should get some rest,” he advised, taking the mug gently from his hands. Tony was stunningly complacent as he surrendered the coffee and let Stephen turn him around toward the hallway.

Clint stood up from the breakfast table as soon as Tony had left the kitchen. “I’m gonna walk him,” he explained, “something’s not right.”  

He stood just in time to watch Tony stagger into the wall and fall hard against it with one shoulder. Clint lunged forward with an alarmed shout, reaching him just in time to catch him under the arms before his legs could give out. Much to his surprise, the jarring motion elicited a cry of sheer pain from Tony, and he very nearly let go of him.

“Tony?” Clint called, helping him ease to the ground and kneeling in front of him. When he pat Tony’s cheek, he could feel the heat radiating from his face. 

“Let me see him,” Strange ordered gently. Clint hadn’t noticed that both Stephen and Natasha had huddled closely around. 

Clint nodded and slid out of the way. 

“He’s runnin’ hot,” Clint told him, “check that cut.” 

Stephen slowly lifted Tony’s shirt and cursed when he saw the cut, still raw and unhealed, now pink even several inches from the center and hot, clearly infected. 

“”Medical should have looked at this immediately, Tony,” he accused, and Tony glared. 

“They did,” he fought, “they put a stitch in it.”

As Stephen looked closer, he could see that  Tony was right--one small stitch had been put in the cut, now nearly completely masked by the swelling from the infection. Clint clapped Stephen’s shoulder and felt him deflate.

“Sorry,” Stephen apologized, “yeah, I see it now.” 

Tony was shivering and flushed, humiliated from the scene he’d made and vulnerable under the scrutiny of three friends. Even if the judgement was from a place of concern, it still read as criticism to a man who’d grown up with a lot of it. 

“Sometimes shit just happens,” Clint  placated. 

“I’m gonna call a SHIELD doctor,” Natasha said. “The quicker you can get on antibiotics, the better.”

Tony let his head rest against Clint’s shoulder once more as he and Stephen lifted him gingerly, doing their best not to aggravate the wound. 

“Let’s get you into bed,” Stephen said. 

Clint gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ve got you,” he promised. 


End file.
